


The Fixed Point

by aneres_kensington



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Story: The Adventure of the Three Garridebs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26464342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aneres_kensington/pseuds/aneres_kensington
Summary: Watson had been working on his manuscript of "The Three Garridebs" for the whole evening, skipping even supper. Holmes had to remind the doctor about the meal.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	The Fixed Point

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfiction I wrote on the spur of the moment without double checking so there is a high possibility of me forgetting some details in the original story. If this turns out to be the case, I apologize.

“You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!"  
It was worth a wound -- it was worth many wounds -- to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.”

\---------

“Now my dear fellow, are you certain that you are not exaggerating?” 

A gentle voice, the owner of which I had known for far too long, abruptly cut through my current train of thoughts as the flow of words in my mind was being brought to life thanks to the fountain pen in my right hand. And although my friend had evidently tried making an attempt so as not to surprise me, judging by the quietness of his tone, my heart still slammed itself against the rib cage. My fingers loosened their grip on the metal pen, immediately dropping it onto the wooden writing desk. The pen began to roll off - I was quite embarrassed to confess this, but my reflexes seemed to have worsened with time and age ever since I left my career as a military doctor, for I did not react quick enough to catch it before its fall. However, in contrast to me, Holmes remained as sharp as a bloodhound: his thin but delicate hand had managed to catch it just a second prior to the moment it would touch the floor. There were some insignificant discoloured patches of skin on his hand because of the chemicals he had touched in the past during his personal experiments, though they did no harm to his characteristic quick movement. He then placed the pen back on the desk, just beside my leather-cover notebook.

“Holmes!” I cried, turning back to face him. My mild irritation must have been shown clearly in my facial expression.

“My apologize, old chap.” A smile rested on his lips, but there was a hint of playfulness in it. I did not understand why mischief was present on his expression at first, but it did not take much time before he himself provided me with the answer. A teasing soon followed Holmes’ words.

“You served in the military, Watson. Surely, you cannot be scared so easily?”

A deep chuckle then escaped his throat upon watching my annoyance, while his pair of bright grey eyes twinkled with amusement at my reaction. It was then I realized Holmes was standing behind my chair, and his body was slightly bending down so that he could read the manuscript of a story based on one of our more recent cases: The Three Garridebs, I had named it so. His shadow hovered above my seating figure. He was dressed in his familiar scarlet night robe, which made my eyebrows furrow. Almost as if on instinct, I cast my gaze to the dimming view outside of the window, and my eyes widened. There was no longer any ray of natural sunlight, just the usual grim existence of darkness that one usually saw when the sun had set. The sole source of light in our living room was the dancing orange flame in the fireplace, and the small fire in the oil lamp I had put on the table when I started writing to save me from the trouble of getting up if it got dark before I finished my writing. But alas, in the end, it turned out to be the reason why I had completely lost track of time. The time for supper had passed for a few hours, I would assume, and somehow I had not noticed it. It was only times such as this that I was able to feel some level of empathy with my friend - not entirely, of course - for his occasional habit of skipping meals whenever an intriguing case arrived, be it a murder or a missing person. I would have to constantly insist him on eating, despite his protests. 

It was been odd to see the positions of us be somewhat reversed. 

“Well then, my dear doctor.” Holmes would speak up as his expression softened, tearing down the silence that was momentary between us “May I ask if you have any intention in eating? I’ve been waiting for you to join me, although I must admit, my patience is running short. The supper has become quite cold, you see.”

“Have you not eaten?” I frowned.

“As I have said earlier, I have been waiting for you.”

“Why, you should not have done so!” Disastifaction was written across my face.

“Ah, but I have already done so, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but-”

“Hush, Watson. At least, I do plan to eat this evening.”

“Your humour is not at all helping the situation, Holmes.” A burst of hearty laughter was his response to my sarcastic remark. 

Knowing this pointless argument would lead both of us to nowhere, I let out a sigh of defeat. I stood up from my seat, unintentionally grimaced at the short though noticeable aching pain in my leg which appeared when I forced the leg to work. The bullet wound I obtained in the case was fortunately not severe, but it was more than enough to make daily activities difficult for the few following weeks. The fact that I had already had a troubled leg before this was not desireable in this situation, also. However, what needed to be done must be done. I slowly made my way toward the dining table and felt Holmes’ steady eyes on me for the whole process. He was silent while observing me, but I wagered it did not have to take a consultant detective as excellent as him to figure out what he had been thinking about.

Guilt, it was almost certainly guilt that he was experiencing.

The heaviness of the realization weighted down my soul, and the feeling of helplessness only added more to it. There was nothing I could say to make the situation better - that was a conclusion I had reached after many conversations I have had with him concerning the guilt he had since the incident. The results of them were all identical: Holmes hardly replied to my words of reassurance, and swiftly redirect the conversation to a different theme whenever he found the chance. Of course, it was foolish of me to ever expect him to discuss his emotions willingly. To put it simply, anything I did to make him feel better would be in vain. Perhaps, time was the only cure.

I shook my head and to avoided any further distress, I tried to shift my focus onto the dishes which were placed neatly on the dining table. Holmes’ had previously complained that the supper had gone cold so I had prepared myself for an unpleasant meal, but one could only imagine my amazement when I could still see the white steam coming out from the food. 

“I had asked Mrs.Hudson to heat the supper up before I called you.” As if noticing my surprise, Holmes explained. He had been following my steps from behind, despite my slow walking pace “I’m not fond of cold meals, Watson. You should know that.”

“Are you now?” A smirk appeared on my lips “Last time, I remember seeing you devouring all of Mrs.Hudson’s supper in the middle of the night, right after you returned to the flat, even though every single one of it was cold.”

Holmes rolled his eyes:

“I’d rather not wake Mrs.Hudson up, Watson. It was not as if I was given any other choice.”

“You could’ve asked me.”

“Mrs.Hudson will murder us if we ever touch her kitchen. Did you forget about last time, my dear fellow?”

“Ah, yes.” I chuckled while settling down in front of the table “It was a wonder how she didn’t throw us out onto the street after.”

“The reason why you and her have tolerated me for so long has always been beyond me.” Holmes commented as he lifted the cap away from the food.

“Well, you are a difficult man to live with, if I have to be truthful-" I tilted my head to the side, genuinely considering his words.

"Have you ever regretted your decision to have me as your flatmate?"

"No, never." Being alarmed by the question, I instantly glaced up from the table. Holmes' eyes and mine locked with one another "Why would you ask such a thing?"

There was a moment of silence between us after my query as Holmes offered no explanation. Neither of us spoke up for a few seconds, and the atmosphere was only broken when Holmes shifted his gaze away from my pupils and back to the inviting supper on the table. 

"You really are the sole fixed point in this ever changing age, Watson." Nevertheless, I saw the corner of his lips curve up into a faint smile.

"Now, shall we eat?"


End file.
